


Everything

by KaRaEa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaRaEa/pseuds/KaRaEa
Summary: After all the times Crowley asked Aziraphale to run away with him, and all the times Aziraphale has rejected him, perhaps it's time to say a few things.





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I've shipped it since I first read the book when I was around Adam's age. It's one of the few relationships where the ambiguous thing works for me for all the reasons described in this fic. That said, I do believe the TV version is 1000% more explicitly gay so this is kind of a fusion.

 Love isn't the word for it. Oh, he supposes there's plenty of that in the mix. But it's nothing so simple, so pure as that. Nothing that could be encapsulated in one human word. It's always, and forever, and a whole mix of emotions it would take another six millennia to pick apart. They are everything. Because when you get right down to it, it's always been them and it always will be. 

Not in that sentimental human way of doing things. Not like a marriage where it's all choice and change Til Death or Divorce Do Us Part. Not in the way that living things die, and the way that everything ends. 

It has always been them because there has never been anyone else. Despite the false nature of their face swapping deception, Aziraphale can't help but imagine that there is some truth to it. They're neither one of them what they're supposed to be. Each a little of the other, like that swirly black and white thing the humans came up with. A demon who is little bit of a good person and an angel who is a little bit of a bastard. From what he can tell there is no other creature in existence like them. 

And it will always be them because there will never be anyone else. It's nice (in the modern vernacular, not in Agnes Nutter terms) to have all these humans around that invite them to parties and send them Christmas cards, but in but the blink of an eye they will be gone, even young Adam only likely to live another seventy or eighty years, and then it will be Crowley and Aziraphale just as it has always been.

There is no human word for that. No heavenly one. No demonic one. 

But watching as Crowley minces around the bookshop, giving the appearance of patronising disdain as he eyes the new inventory (Aziraphale can't say he likes the substitutions all that much himself, but he is impressed that a boy of eleven would know so many books. Even if they are all more or less along the same subject line) it seems painfully clear that he will have to make do with the language available, despite its limitations.

"Crowley," he opens with, because that much is nice (in the Agnes Nutter way) and uncomplicatedly true.

"Mmm?" Crowley says, bending slightly to see a row of books that used to be missprints of the Quran and are now first edition Harry Potter books.

"What you said before," Aziraphale continues.

Crowley doesn't reply, because there are six thousand years worth of 'before' and he can't be sure what in particular Aziraphale is referring to.

"About me being your best friend," Aziraphale adds.

Crowley sniffs and leans back against a shelf of Artemis Fowl, formerly Nostradamus with all the 'Ns' replaced with 'Ys'. "I never said that."

Aziraphale graciously lets it go. "Yes, well. You are mine. And my everything else, I suppose."

All that garners is a raised eyebrow above dark shades.

He knows Crowley knows what he means. "Well, then. Brunch?"

"I've been doing some reading on Alpha Centauri," Aziraphale mentions on the way out of the bookshop. "I was thinking perhaps we might try the Trappist Planets instead. You know. Next time."

Crowley stops in his tracks. "Next Time?" He asks, capital letters and all.

"I was thinking, if you're right, then Next Time might not be Us versus Them so much as..." Aziraphale clears his throat. "Them versus Them."

It would never work, of course. Whatever the uncertainty surrounding their nature it is undeniably their nature not to leave humans to the whims of Upstairs or Downstairs.

A snakelike grins spreads across Crowley's face. "Come on, Angel. Let's go eat some crepes."


End file.
